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Sherlock fic: Stock'Holmes' Syndrome, Chapter 1 of 3
Title: Stock'Holmes' Syndrome
Author: PipMer
Characters: Sherlock, John, Billie
Pairing: Sherlock/John friendship or romance (to be revealed)
Genre: Friendship, angst/fluff, bromance/romance (voted on by the readers)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2342
Summary: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes had known each other for seven years, five months and 26 days. Captain Watson decided it was high time for him to let his friend know exactly what he meant to him. Dr. Watson, on the other hand, was less than enthusiastic about the whole thing.
A/N: Just a fun little foray into John and Sherlock's relationship. You, the reader, get to decide which way their relationship goes. Should it be bromance, or romance? Leave me a note in a comment to let me know your preference. Written in a rush, not beta'd or britpicked, I do hope you enjoy, regardless.
UPDATE 10/12/12: VOTES HAVE BEEN TALLIED, A DIRECTION HAS BEEN CHOSEN :)
John Watson and Sherlock Holmes had known each other for seven years, five months and 26 days. Captain Watson decided it was high time for him to let his friend know exactly what he meant to him. Dr. Watson, on the other hand, was less than enthusiastic about the whole thing.
It was Dr. Watson who now stood before the mantel, shifting from one foot to the other as he fingered the unsealed envelope in his hand. The Captain had sat down four hours earlier to pen the missive, then had abruptly disappeared and left the Doctor to handle the situation. He was a brave man, the Captain, but he could only face so much before retreating. The good doctor would see to it that the message was delivered, even when he was having second thoughts.
John sighed. He knew it was time. Sherlock himself deserved to be told these things. John had expressed himself in his blog, to Sherlock’s gravestone, and to his therapist, in that order, but never to the man himself. After seven years, what on earth was there to be afraid of?
Swallowing nervously, John reached out a shaky hand and set the envelope against the skull, purple ink displaying the name SHERLOCK to the rest of the room. John turned around, grabbed his jacket, and promptly fled the flat
Sherlock,
Apologies for being a coward and writing you a note instead of telling you this face to face. Taking into account your aversion to sentiment, I figured this way I would save us both the discomfort. At least that’s what I tell myself.
We have known each other for seven years, and been flatmates for five. In all that time, I never told you what your friendship means to me. I’ll cut to the chase, knowing how you appreciate brevity and loath lengthy exposition.
Sherlock, you are my dearest friend, and have been since the night we chased the cab and cured my limp. I would go so far as to say that I love you; although in what sense I’m not quite sure. Platonically, certainly. Has it tipped into the realm of the romantic? I truly don’t know. I can’t see myself spending my life with anybody but you. I can’t imagine not sharing my life with you at 221B Baker Street. When I think of myself five, ten, even twenty years from now, I don’t see a wife and children. I see myself with you, solving cases, chasing criminals, drinking tea in the parlour while you play the violin.
I’m not exactly sure what it means, but I do know this. That I’ve never cared for anybody the way that I care for you. And I don’t think I ever will.
Whether or not you return the sentiment isn’t really relevant. What matters is how I feel, and I thought it was important that you know. I don’t want you to feel obligated to respond or to acknowledge this in any way. Just know that you are loved, and that your friendship is treasured.
Yours,
John.
John sat in a booth in a back corner of Angelo’s, as far away from the entrance as he could get, facing the wall. He had been sitting there for an hour, nursing a beer and listlessly gnawing on an appetiser. He really didn’t feel like eating, but he felt bad taking up customer space without purchasing anything, so he bought an order of breadsticks. He tried to quell the uneasy feeling in his stomach, but he wasn’t very successful.
Sherlock had texted him about half an hour ago, telling him he was on his way back from Bart’s. Surely by now he would have been home and seen John’s note. The very thought made John tense up. He really wasn’t worried about Sherlock reacting badly. What he was really afraid of was Sherlock’s indifference, that he would choose to behave as if John hadn’t risked everything by baring his soul. What he desperately wanted was some hint, some gesture showing that he meant something to Sherlock beyond just an assistant and a way to afford rent.
John sighed. He really didn’t know what he was expecting. Sherlock didn’t do emotions. He barely did friends, John still being his only one. What was I thinking, he thought morosely.
Ten minutes went by, and then his phone beeped.
Don’t turn around; you’ve been made – SH
John felt himself tense as Sherlock folded his way into the seat opposite him.
“John.”
John flexed his left hand and carefully didn’t meet his friend’s eyes as he replied, “Sherlock.”
Five minutes passed in an uncomfortable silence. Sherlock studied John, and John looked everywhere but at his friend. After what seemed an interminable length of time, someone finally stopped by to take Sherlock’s order.
“Ah Billie,” Sherlock greeted, eyes never leaving John’s face. “I’ll have a coffee with two sugars, and the chicken parmesan with side orders of cauliflower and rice pilaf, please. Also, another beer for my friend here.”
John glanced at Sherlock. He mumbled a ‘thank you’ before his gaze dropped away again.
“Very good, Mr. Holmes, your order will be right out,” Billie declared before walking away.
Sherlock leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, bringing his steepled fingers up to his lips. He studied John for a few minutes before he slowly reached out and snagged one of John’s breadsticks, bringing it to his mouth to bite into carefully.
John’s mouth twitched, and he finally met his friend’s gaze properly. “You’re actually eating a full meal? Will wonders never cease.”
Sherlock smirked. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why wouldn’t I? We don’t have a case.”
Warmth bloomed in John’s chest at Sherlock’s use of the pronoun ‘we’. “I know, but you don’t usually eat so much at one sitting. You usually spread it out throughout the day.”
Sherlock shrugged. “I’m hungry,” he stated.
“No, you’re bored.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
John huffed in laughter. “I wonder if it’s only cold, logical beings who can do that; I always wish I could.”
“You wish you were cold and logical?”
“No, I wish I could raise one eyebrow, like you and Spock.”
“Who?”
John rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?” He took a bite out of another breadstick.
“Your coffee and beer, sirs,” Billie declared as he set the beverages down. “Is there anything else I can get you while you’re waiting for your food? Dr. Watson, do you need anything besides your appetiser?”
“No tha…”
“Yes, he’ll have the linguini with clam sauce, along with broccoli with cheese sauce, please.”
“How did you….”
“That’s the dish you always order when you’re feeling anxious.”
“Yes, that’s… that’s what I’ll have, thank you, Billie.”
“Very good, sirs. Enjoy your evening.” Billie walked away, leaving the two men alone.
Sherlock leaned forward, wrapping his elegant fingers around his mug. “You know, John, you surprise me. Do you really think that I didn’t already know what you revealed in your letter?”
John’s eyes flew to Sherlock’s. “What?”
Sherlock smiled. “Nothing you wrote is news to me. Surely you know this.” He took a sip of his coffee, carefully watching John as he set the cup back down.
John shrugged. “Just wanted to get it out there, I guess. I mean, so that there’s no misunderstandings, you know? About where I stand.”
“John, anyone who knows you knows exactly where you stand when it comes to me. You don’t exactly hold your cards close to the chest,” Sherlock said gently.
John swallowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, just forget…”
“You didn’t.”
“What?”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable. Although it does pain me that you think me incapable of reciprocating.”
“Well, you’ve always made it clear that relationships, and emotions in general, aren’t really your area…”
“I’m not incapable, John. Just unwilling, for the most part.”
John felt a brief flare of hope before dampening it down. “For the most part?”
“Yes. I did tell you once that I’ve got just one friend. Nothing’s changed since then. You must be able to think of instances when I have shown my regard for you. After all this time, surely you must know that I return your sentiment.”
Well, that was practically a declaration of love. John thought of Sherlock purchasing beer after finding out Sarah had broken up with him. He thought of a fall off a building. He grinned. But then his grin slowly faded as he realised he had to have clarification on exactly where he stood.
He cleared his throat. “So, what exactly is the nature of…it?”
Sherlock frowned. “What is the nature of what?”
John sighed. “What is the nature of the… sentiment that you return.”
Sherlock leaned back as a waiter arrived at their booth with their food. As soon as he left, Sherlock said, “You’re wondering if what I feel is platonic or romantic.”
John ducked his head as he felt a blush creep over his features. He avoided eye contact as he picked up his fork and started eating.
Sherlock followed his example, only without the avoidance. His eyes never left John’s bowed head. A few moments of blessed silence passed as the two men ate. Of course, Sherlock was the one to break it.
“I want whatever you want.”
John’s mouth muscles stopped mid-chew. He forced a swallow before he said, “What?”
Sherlock huffed in exasperation. “Really, John, you know how I hate repeating myself. Do pay attention. Whatever direction you want our relationship to go, I want that as well.”
John’s jaw dropped. “Why did you never say anything?”
“What would have been the point? You were clearly very attached to your heterosexual identity, as evidenced by the number of women you paraded through our flat.”
“No, nope, not gonna cut it, Sherlock. During the very first meal we shared, you made it quite clear that you weren’t interested. Married to your work, remember?”
“I had only just met you, John. I didn’t want anything complicating our nascent flatmate arrangement.”
John cleared his throat. “So, you’re saying it makes no difference to you? Which way our relationship goes, you mean? You have no preference either way?” He felt a small stab of disappointment in his chest.
Sherlock shrugged. “Either way, nothing really changes. I still get to spend my life with you, chasing criminals and solving crime. Taking in horrendous Bond marathons, watching crap telly. Playing Cluedo. Retiring together to the country to raise bees. I still get your companionship and unconditional loyalty. I get the important things, either way.” Sherlock continued to eat, showing no outward signs of discomfort or tension as he watched for John’s reaction.
John let out his breath slowly. Really, what Sherlock was saying made a lot of sense. They were friends first and foremost. They would always remain so, no matter what else happened between them. Their relationship had survived an eighteen month separation, after all.
Then some of what Sherlock had been saying actually sank in. John huffed in laughter. “Raising bees? Really? You’ve never expressed interest in apiology before, at least not to me.”
Sherlock smiled. “It’s an interest I picked up while I was… gone.” Sherlock cleared his throat nervously. He knew John grew uncomfortable whenever he mentioned anything having to do with his deception. “I never brought it up because you don’t like to be reminded of that time.”
John’s smile slipped from his face; he reached over and laid his hand over Sherlock’s. Sherlock didn’t flinch at the intimate touch, and his gaze remained locked on John’s. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I wasn’t ready to hear about it when you first came back, but I never meant to imply that you were to remain silent about it forever. I certainly want to hear about the origins of this bee fetish.” John squeezed Sherlock’s hand and let his own linger there for a few moments before removing it.
“I will tell you about it, later tonight. Bees are quite fascinating creatures, I think raising them will be quite a profitable use of our time when we are no longer working.”
John grinned boyishly. “So we’re retiring together too, eh? What makes you think that I won’t move to America with my wife of 30 years?”
Sherlock smirked knowingly. “No woman could ever tear you away from our life, John, admit it. You said as much in your note. We give each other what we need; you’d never leave that behind.”
‘You’re right, you arrogant git,” John said affectionately.
“Of course I am.”
“So.”
“So?”
“Apparently it’s up to me, then. Where we go from here.”
“Yes. What’s the expression? ‘Ball’s in your court’?”
“Yes, alright then. Let’s enjoy the rest of our meal; maybe by the end of it I’ll have come to a decision.”
“Alright,” Sherlock agreed, giving John a look that was full of affection and fondness.
John’s heart skipped a beat. Part of him wanted to reach out and kiss Sherlock to within an inch of his life. Another, very large part of him just revelled in the feeling of being the one person that Sherlock Holmes called friend, of being a person he had been willing to die for. What could possibly compete with that?
The rest of the meal passed in a pleasant manner. The two friends ate and bickered; John sniggered at inappropriate jokes, and Sherlock made outrageous deductions of the other customers. Time passed; shadows started to lengthen as evening encroached. John ordered one more beer; Sherlock’s coffee cup was refilled. Empty plates were removed and dessert was declined. Before they knew it, Angelo’s was closing.
As Sherlock started to rise to go settle the bill, John reached out and grasped his wrist. Sherlock returned to his seat, giving John an enquiring look. John swallowed.
“I’ve decided. What it is I want. From you… no, sorry.. for us.”
Sherlock waited.
John took a breath; it was now or never. He leaned forward and whispered in Sherlock’s ear…..
Chapter 2
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Also: love how you've portrayed Sherlock and John here. Very lovely.
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I think you should make your own decision on where the characters take you :D Though I agree with
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I liked the suggestion of another commenter that John should play safe first, but then Sherlock has to admit he wants more - which ought to lead to a fluffy or sexy or even steamy happy end in my world ;)
So, I vote for love instead of friendship, but don't make it too easy for them.
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